Page 85 of The Call of Crimson
Aurelius nods, and Ayden lifts her, bridal style, into his arms and climbs into the waiting carriage. It takes off for the palace, leaving Rowina, Aurelius, and me standing in the middle of the street, covered in blood.
The crowd falls quiet around us.
“Thank you, both.” My voice is hoarse, exhaustion filling me in place of the quickly receding adrenaline.
“There’s no need to thank us.” Rowina lays a hand on my shoulder. “These are our people. It’s our job to protect them.”
A light touch taps my arm. I turn to find an elderly female and a boy holding towels and a pitcher of water.
“Let us wash your hands,” the boy says.
We stretch out our arms, mine the worst by far. They pour water over them, scrubbing away all they can before toweling them dry. It’s not perfect, but it’s a hell of a lot better.
“Thank you,” I murmur.
“No,” she smiles. “Thank you. Rochelle is my niece, and you didn’t have to save her.”
“I would do it for anyone.”
She studies me with eyes the same bright blue as Rochelle’s and smiles. “I believe that, Your Highness.”
“Please,” I say, voice rough. “It’s just Breyla.”
“You have an uncommon soul, Breyla,” she says, squeezing my hand.
“That she does,” Aurelius says, sliding an arm around my shoulders.
Shrugging, I try to shake off Aurelius’ hold, but his grip only tightens. “Thank you for your hospitality.”
“We’ll send word about Rochelle the moment we know more,” Rowina promises.
“Thank you,” the little boy says, flashing us a toothy grin.
Aurelius’ arm stays firmly clamped around me as we reach the horses.
“Let me go,” I hiss.
“No,” he says flatly. “You’re trembling. Your heart’s all over the place, and you’re dangerously close to passing out.”
I glance down at my shaking hands and realize he’s right.
“Oh,” is all I manage to say as Aurelius lifts me onto the horse, then joins me a heartbeat later.
I lean forward, trying to escape his warmth, his solid presence.
Aurelius grunts, shifts the reins to one hand, and presses the other against my lower belly, pulling me back against him.
“Quit fighting me, you stubborn female,” he growls. “I’m keeping you upright.”
I sigh, but stop struggling. I’m too tired.
For a few minutes, the steady beat of the horse and the warmth of his chest at my back lull me.
Then discomfort creeps in. I shift in the saddle, trying to ease the cramp building in my hip.
“For the love of gods,” Aurelius groans. “Quit moving. There’s only so far I can push my restraint.”
The unmistakable pressure against my lower back tells me I’ve already pushed him further than I intended. My core heats, irritation rising at my body’s involuntary response.
